


read between the lines

by graceunderpressure



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:48:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceunderpressure/pseuds/graceunderpressure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t understand, because he says it all the time, and it’s not his fault if the stupid little shit can’t hear him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	read between the lines

Mickey doesn’t understand why Gallagher is angry at him, why he looks at him expectantly, why he sits and waits for Mickey to say those three little words. He doesn’t understand, because he says it all the time, and it’s not his fault if the stupid little shit can’t hear him.

He said it when he went to juvie instead of killing Frank. He said it when he beat up that little faggot Gallagher was fucking at school, and the pervert grandpa. He said it whenever he kissed him. He said it when he let him share his blunt, or when he insisted to shotgun just so he could have an excuse to let their hands touch. He even says it underneath threats and insults and “you’re nothing but a warm mouth to me,” but he can tell from the puppy dog eyes that the fucker can’t hear it.

He moans it when they’re fucking, with every grunt and grind of his hips. With every time he lets Gallagher entangle their fingers and press up against him. With every time they fuck face to face and Mickey nestles his head into the crook of the other boy’s neck and breathes deep. His words are written into every half-moon scar on Gallagher’s back.

He screamed it when his dad walked in, so loud that Mickey knew Terry could hear it, so loud that his father kept Gallagher in the room to watch.

Christ, maybe he’s been saying it since that first time, when he tossed the gun on the bed. Maybe everything from that day forward was just little whispers of it, growing louder and louder. He wishes he could shut up.

These days he feels like all he does it say it, and it makes him itch inside when he realizes what a pathetic little bitch he’s become. He’s losing track of the number of people who can smell it on him. He sees it in the way Lip looks at him out of the corner of his eye and the way Svetlana pretends not to notice how he wakes up in the middle of the night with a name on his lips. He sees it in the way Terry tightens his mouth when Mickey watches wrestling, and Mandy won’t even look at him anymore.

He knows Gallagher knows, too. That he can’t hide it anymore; his secret is out of the bag. Firecrotch _knows_ , but he doesn’t understand.

Gallagher doesn’t hear what he really means when he says they can still bang, and he doesn’t hear what he means when he says to grow up, no matter how many times Mickey repeats it. Maybe he’s wrong, maybe Gallagher does know, but he doesn’t care.

Because the little shit wants more from Mick, he wants to hear the words out loud. Mickey tried—he threw the damn words, he shouted them and screamed and pitched a fit, but Gallagher ignored them and left anyway. He’s still waiting for Mickey’s lips to move, and it doesn’t make any sense because how is that fair?

Mick doesn’t understand what more he can do because he says it all time, and it’s not his fault if the stupid little shit can’t hear him.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, sorry.


End file.
